Here lately I’ve been caught up in the daily grind and the weeks seem to fly by. It’s nearly November. Actually, in six days it’ll be my unhappy anniversary (four years, honey, and if you didn’t have that ugly skank in your life I might admit I still love you and still be asking if we could work this out…cause part of me isn’t strong enough yet to stop glossing over all the wrongs you’ve done to me)…in six days it’ll also be Halloween and I don’t have costumes for my girls yet.
Luna wants to be a ghostie, but she doesn’t like the sheet idea. I’m considering letting her play with an open sack of flour on the patio just before we get ready to go out, but then her Grandma probably wouldn’t want a dusty ghostie in her van, lol. I have to think about these special moments for the girls because my hurt doesn’t matter. It’s miniscule, or at least unimportant. My girls deserve happiness and sunshine, even if it means me standing outside the window holding a sun lamp on a rainy day…okay, maybe not that literal, but you get the idea.
Still, as a mother, if I am neither happy nor well, I cannot easily care for my angels. So what makes a woman happy and well? Medically speaking, it’s getting all those symptoms treated, diagnosis undiagnosed conditions, etc. In a recent concrete example: I have a spider bite on my fat ass that a very sexy physicians’ assistant examined and prescribed antibiotics for.
But it’s just just about my physical health. Depression can manifest itself in physical illness. Depression can affect my ability to get important things done. Depression can make me forget responsibilities. I take care of my babies and their needs, but sometimes juggling 36 hours of classwork/homework (cause once you “attend class” for 9hrs a week, you do 27hrs of homework), 10-20 hours of volunteerism (because, hey, it could lead to a job someday), 168hrs of parenting, and however many hours I must devote to eating, sleeping, and shitting…well, it’s exhausting.
So maybe I still let the housework slip a little bit, but I had to let the “maid” go (a neighbor lady who cleaned my house once a week to help out), because it wasn’t working out, and I find it difficult to muster the energy required to tackle all of that at the end of a long day.
For the past few days, for instance, one kid was shitting liquid and the other was ralphing up anything not liquid…it was wholly unpleasant, especially the time I became a human puke bucket…I clean up those sorts of things with expediency, but don’t let myself get stressed about my collection of college textbooks (all of which I’m currently supposed to be reading) being strewn about the livingroom or the clothing I had on a fan-drying rack (because I have to choose between laundry money and gasoline and walking everywhere in the desert sounds as pleasant as falling asleep in a tanning bed) being wadded up on the couch–both due to tiny curious hands.
At some point, though, I’ve got to take a break. I’ve got to log into social networking sites and interact with other humans who’ve finished their puppy years. I’ve got to post rants and reviews on this blog. I’ve got to laugh at things on YouTube and chat on Yahoo with very close friends. Not because it’s necessary, but because my sanity is necessary, and any form of social interaction can lead to that.
And when I’m on these social sites or IMing platforms, I occasionally run across old or at the very least dear friends of the opposite gender. And occasionally these gentlemen will engage me in harmless communication.
There’s one in particular that seems to know all the right things to say, that has that winning smile and, even lacking formal higher education, still seems to be able to kick it in conversations to the point that I do not find myself banging my forehead against a wall crying about the idiocy of mankind in general…he seems genuinely interested in me and what I have to say. He seems to really wish we could take our virtual friendship out of cyberspace and into the real world. And I seem to really wish that too…
What’s stopping us is my concerns about dating while I’m still [legally] married, my fear of rejection, my concern that he won’t be the right man for the job I’d ultimately be hiring him for…because let’s face it: any man I did date would be applying for the stepfather job. And I take that seriously. I don’t (unlike some people or should I say a person I know) just want to shake up with the first ugly piece of ass that has my same taste in stupid cartoons and dress-up games…
I want, need, and deserve a real man who will treat me the way I’ve always deserved to be treated, but he also has to treat my children as though they were his own, even though I won’t be trying to pass him off as their genetic father. This hypothetical future partner of mine would be a loving third parent to these children.
In my mind, it makes logical sense for the man who helped me create these angels to at least show up in their lives on occasion, to be more than a passing thought to them. It makes logical sense for notes or vids or cards to accompany packages sent a week late with onsies that read “Daddy’s Little Sweetheart.” It makes logical sense for such a person to be ready, willing, and able to continue contributing to their lives financially and emotionally…But as has been pointed out, some people do not always share the same train of thought.
And for all of the reasons above I am reticent to jump off that cliff into a new relationship, into the arms of a man who seems to be ready, willing, and able to give me what I need. I am hesitant to allow myself to develop deep feelings. I am reluctant to make any plans for dinners or movies or Tuesday morning brunches, because I need to take things slow and be the responsible parent in these children’s lives.
On that note, I’ll be posting this entry and then starting a pot of coffee because between the housework and the schoolwork and the slowbuilding career and the march erga gaudium and the early start to my morning I can’t see the opportunity for a decent REM cycle.